


Waiting on Words

by benevolens



Series: Nights Were Mainly Made For Things That You Can't Say Tomorrow Day [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (2009) RPF
Genre: Accusations of Infidelity, Black Keys-- Waiting on Words, F/M, POV Molly Hooper, Past Drug Use, and Toby being a precious little shit, not really a song fic though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benevolens/pseuds/benevolens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their conversation weighs heavily over Molly. They're both waiting on words. But, in the meantime, they both receive word from someone unexpected.<br/>"Did you miss me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting on Words

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings friends!
> 
> So, this is what I've been working on as a piece post-do i wanna know even though people are asking for more with Two Weeks. That will come...in time...However, this is what has been floating around for this fic, at least in my mind, for a while. Finally, a part of it is written out! Before you ask, yes you can expect more. This part is set after their poignant conversation in the previous part of my new series and in terms of canon, during and after the events of The Sign of Three and His Last Vow. Plot points from those two episodes are mentioned and later, what is implied with TAB will be a part of it..... And by the way, I took a different approach to this part stylistically. 
> 
> So, I hope you enjoy. xx
> 
> P.S. Totally unbeta'd.

_{{I'm waiting on words  
I'm waiting on the one I've been thinking of}}_

__  
{{And hoping you heard  
I'm waiting on the words}}

Months had gone by after their…encounter and Sherlock had given her ample space. He’d been so brilliant at the wedding (especially with the bit of coaching she had given from behind the scenes) because he’d solved the case and his best man speech was definitely heartfelt in the most Sherlockian of ways. Though, the sight of him leaving while everyone was dancing and alone at that had made her heart ache to follow him. But, she couldn’t…Not then.

The whole wedding experience had only worked to prove, in her mind, that she shouldn’t marry Tom. God, the meat dagger theory had embarrassed her so completely and the fact he had shown such ignorance to what Sherlock was doing when he had gone on a ‘tangent’ and she had explained it to him.

 _“He was trying to save lives, you idiot.”_ She had clarified when questioned further about the fork in the hand business. It wasn’t exactly his fault that he didn’t know about how Sherlock was, but his disparaging comments had set her down a path of irrational anger.

That night, however, once she was calm and collected, Molly was more than convinced. Especially with the knowledge that Sherlock wanted her in return…

For about two weeks after the Watson’s wedding, Molly had drifted from Tom significantly. Things that had never set her off before had started to grate on her nerves (maybe because she had once settled on tolerating them). He had never moved in with her, not that she had offered. That was probably a sign in itself now that she thought about it.

And they fought.

Particularly around the fact Tom had gone snooping through her phone and found _those_ texts from Sherlock.

_“So, what? He’s in love with you now that he can’t have you?”_

His derisive laugh had thrown her off completely. What had he been insinuating? Maybe he pitied her just like everyone else? How did he love her if he still pitied her?

Molly had lost it then, yelling at him to explain himself. Had he found it amusing? Did he think of her as some sort of property he had picked up, used and abused? Did he pity her? Had he pitied her all along?

That wasn’t the first time she had lost her temper, nor the last.  

Tom, somehow, had the audacity to insinuate that she was cheating on him. While she was most certainly in love with someone else, she had been nothing but faithful to him in every way that mattered because he had known her heart was mostly out of the equation when he met her. He’d acknowledged as much when he proposed.

_“I know—I know you can’t—that it’s hard for you, but hopefully I can find a small space in your heart.”_

It wasn’t the most articulate proposal, but Molly had found it endearing at the time. Tom had really tried his best.

But all of this fighting had brought to light just how uncomfortable he was with the fact that he was not in any square footage of her heart and this apparently gave her the ability to be a string of horrible awful things. No matter how angry Molly had gotten she hadn’t gone past calling him an idiot. He, however, was convinced that she had most likely been cheating with Sherlock this whole time and probably others seeing as she was so friendly with that D. I friend of hers.

_“I bet you’ve been sleeping around all this time! That’s why we never…”_

Molly had only laughed, full out laughed bending over with the force of it as tears streamed down her face. Gaining a semblance of composure, and sarcastically confirming that obviously she’d been in some odd threesome of a relationship all this time, Molly wriggled the ring off her finger and tossed it at him before telling him to leave and never comeback. She never wanted to hear him and if he ever saw her on the street, he should promptly run in the other direction.

She hadn’t expected this completely disgusting side of Tom, but at least she had seen it before idiotically marrying the man and being stuck in a whole other set of problems. Of course, Molly knew she could have handled all of that differently. She should have. It was never meant to end that way.

The whole breakdown had taken a month (a very Sherlock-less month), including the week she decided to stay home and cry or drink or do whatever it is she wanted. During that week, she had wondered why Sherlock hadn’t gotten in touch. There must have been some case that he might be looking for her help with right. She had her mobile in constant reach in case he had called, but no call had ever come.

She went back to work the next week, hoping to see him so they could talk again. So that she could tell him he needn’t keep such space, but they needed to talk about everything. They would have to have a long conversation and she needed a full explanation before venturing into anything with him.

Or so she had thought it would work out that way.

_“What do you mean run a test for Sherlock?”_

_“It’s less for him and more on him. He’s been at it again, Molly.” John had told her solemnly._

_Her lips had trembled and she worked hard to keep her voice even._

_“I’ll do it.” She had confirmed softly, feeling her heart ache yet again._

None of this was fair. Not in the least. Not after everything she had done to get him away from using when they had first met. Not after she had offered him her home, her bed, her company and her heart. He had promised to never do it again and she had accepted warily. He was an addict and as much self-control Sherlock Holmes possessed, the effect of drugs on anyone’s body, even the great Consulting Detective, could come to be more than self-will could master.

_When Sherlock Holmes, looking like the complete opposite of himself, unpolished, unshaved, baggy, ratty, disgusting clothing and that smell, walked into the lab Molly instantly shoved a plastic container in her face and pointed down the hall. She’d been quick to remind him if he took any detours or took too long to fill the cup, she would come after him herself to extract the sample._

_Compliantly, he’d taken it with a firm nod and John had followed him for good measure. The look in his eyes…she couldn’t describe the look, but it only served to anger her further. He’d looked like a miserable shit the whole time they waited for the result and oh, when the result came, it took everything in her not to jump across the table and pummel him into the tiles._

_“So, Molly, is he clean?”_

_“Clean?” She repeated with her quiet anger, rounding the table as calmly as possible coming to face him._

_Molly’s face twitched as she looked up at his stupid face and her hand delivered the first blow and the second… Third times the charm and this time backhanded._

_“Say you’re sorry,”_

Then he’d decided that since she’d taken to hurting him that he could return the favour by pointing out the fact that she was no longer in a relationship.

Why he had seemed bitter about it or angry was beyond her.

Her life was coming apart at the seams and it was Sherlock Holmes’ fault…again.

_{{I’m waiting on words…}}_

Molly barely saw him after that, nor heard from him text, call or otherwise. Which hadn’t meant that Molly wasn’t sending him texts or calling to find out if he was well, asking if they could just talk.

 Maybe this was another sign. Maybe it wouldn’t ever work out for them. Maybe, she should have taken his previous advice and kept away from relationships.

It was beginning to look like even those that she called friends were only after her for one thing these days. She hadn’t heard much from John, nor Mary since she’d tried to slap sense into Sherlock Holmes until a few months after. They’d come to question her after supposed second disappearance. A bitter part of her found it amusing that the people who supposedly knew him best hadn’t noticed him missing the first time and were now concerned enough with his disappearance to ask her where he might be hiding.

She’d laughed a bit when they approached her on her break with the question and shrugged a bit while naming off possible drug dens.

Those had been checked. Did she know anywhere else?

The look on their faces when she explained that he often took to hiding in her flat, in her own bedroom was priceless.

There was truth to Sherlock thinking that Moriarty had over looked her importance to him. She was just a silly woman with a silly little crush on Sherlock because he was pretty and very smart. It still seemed like she was, to everyone else at least, still a silly woman who was very much wrongly taken with Sherlock. And it seemed their ‘friends’ liked to stick to that conclusion. She, however, was quite sure that she was completely in love with him, no matter how much she had wanted to ignore it for the sake of trying to find happiness elsewhere.

Furthermore, they’d been shocked to know that she was one of the two most important people to help fake his death (she wondered, smirking all the while, what their faces would look like if she had told them he had spent a week trying to collect himself after falling off the rooftop) and now it seemed they hadn’t noticed that Sherlock had been coming to her for years, despite her having known him longer than most of them.

_“What?!”_

_“Yeah, he’s always used my bedroom as a bolthole.”_

_“What do you mean by always?”_

_She gave a bit of a fond smile as if she were remembering something. “Well, he used to come by a lot before you moved in with him. That was when he needed to run away less. I guess that’s a testament to your friendship with him. He hardly came by until after that Christmas. It was more frequent then and before he… Then too. Recently, he hadn’t come by at all because of Tom… He might be there now though. I noticed someone having been in the flat when I was at work. And no, no one could have broken in. He’s got keys.”_

The stunned look on their faces made her sad. Molly knew just how much they pitied her for being the woman who wanted to be with Sherlock Holmes (didn’t they remember her making _him_ apologies and slapping him across the face?), except that Sherlock Holmes didn’t do sentiment, with women at least of all, if you listened to the old rumours, but then there had been The Woman. That must have been an anomaly. But, oh. There was Janine now too.

Molly had found it slightly funny how they had gone to Janine first and received a bunch of out of character information on ‘Sherls’ as she had taken to calling him.

That was definitely another nail in the coffin. Had Sherlock moved on while he’d tried to wait for her to make up her mind?

Molly had gotten in a quick question or two while receiving _that_ look of pity from John as he gave her some brief answers.

_“Well, she said he could be at a posh club or strip—”_

_“He wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t go to those places. You know him, how his mind tears at itself. Sensory overload, idiotic people and being around more drugs is hardly a place he wants to be. Regardless, of what his girlfriend says.”_

Strip clubs. Really? Strip clubs.

When had John stopped knowing his best friend?

Weirder questions to never be explored: 

~~Why was his apparent girlfriend okay with him going to strip clubs?~~

~~Why would he tell her he ever went there?~~

~~Did he ever—~~

No, she wasn’t about to go there.

_{{Oh, goodbye_  
_I heard you were leaving}}_

  
_{{Won't try changing your mind}}_

  
_{{Goodbye,_

_Don't know where you're going}}_

  
_{{The only thing I really know_  
_My love for you is real…}}_

 

After the interrogation, there wasn’t much news from anyone. Not even Lestrade knew what was going on, but apparently it was a big case and even Mary was caught up in helping solve it.

She decided then that perhaps she’d try to ignore that part of her life (particularly if the rumour about him trying to propose to Janine was true) and try to keep her head in her work.

The holidays passed without a word from anyone (what if she was wrong and everyone being surprised about her being important to Sherlock at all wasn’t funny, but a true reaction while knowing his real feelings?) and Molly was never more grateful for having Meena as her best friend.

_“Well, I haven’t really heard from anyone. I guess they’re all busy or something.”_

_“Bullshit. After everything you’ve done for all of them? You think helping Sherlock was you saving his life, but you saved all of their lives by doing that. You do realise that don’t you? Just you wait, I’m going to give them an earful of it one of these days. And this whole treating you like shit at Christmas again? We aren’t having that. You’ll come to stay with us and you’re invited every Christmas until you find a man who truly appreciates you for you. Are you crying over there? Don’t make me call a cab and come over there Molly.”_

Meena had worked hard to make Christmas and New Years the best experience Molly could have. Multiple gifts and all kinds of girl’s only outings (Little Jess had insisted that no Daddies were allowed) had made Molly much happier, not to mention all the attention she received from her niece, who was dead set on making sure her Aunty Molly never had a moment to feel sad.

_{{I leave it behind_  
_no longer will I want for a single thing_  
_stay true in my mind}}_

The months past the New Year, Molly gravitated towards spending more time with her other friends and Meena especially to keep her mind off of those thoughts that plagued her when she was alone. But, while at work one day, Molly couldn’t help but wish Sherlock was there with her when it happened.

_“Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Didyoumissmedidyoumissmedidyoumissme…”_

Her heart thundered in her chest at the sight of every screen she had just turned off, turning back on by themselves to display a face that had her waking up screaming some nights. Trying to calm herself, Molly had grabbed for her phone and tried to call Sherlock.

_“The customer you have tried to reach is out of service.”_

She tried again and again only to have the same automated message tell her that he was out of reach, that he’d probably hadn’t cared enough to tell her he changed his number. In that moment, not only was Molly questioning his admission of love as one he had just fleetingly felt in a moment of loneliness, but also (yet again) how much she had meant to him even as a friend. She groaned, tears coming to her eyes. Molly had been in a constant state of

Well, it looked like it wouldn’t matter anymore anyways. She’d probably be dead soon. Perhaps, this was the cosmos’ cruel way to exact her life in payment for having stolen back Sherlock’s.

She’d dragged herself around, turning the screens off again before shutting herself away in her office. Her mind whirled with one thought: Who in the world could she turn to now? After spending minutes panicking over that same question and ruling out almost everyone she knew, Molly decided she was asking the wrong question.

The only person she needed was there right now. Her.

The plan was to wait in her office for a time, see if anyone came by, in which case she would deal with that when she needed to cross that bridge. Having successfully waited for only half an hour in her office, Molly cautiously made her way out of the lab, taking a completely different path out of the hospital to get home. Her first instinct was to take a cab to her building, but then after remembering the cases with the cabbie and that Moriarty had once picked up Sherlock in a cab without the detective’s notice, Molly was ready to risk the tube. Having thought about it as rationally as she could, perhaps it would be easier for her to hide in the masses. Despite her paranoia, Molly hadn’t sensed anyone following her, let alone looking in her direction as she got on the train.

She rushed into her building upon arrival and dashed up the stairs rather than the elevator to her floor. Approaching her front door, Molly paused to examine it properly. It was intact and didn’t look any different than normal. Quickly, she pressed an ear to the reinforced metal (an upgrade she had made after moving) and could hear no noise inside except from the occasional mewling. Obviously, Toby didn’t seem to be in any distress. Her keys were in the door moments later and she worked quickly to open all three (it wasn’t overkill…but maybe the other three inside had been up… until now). Having opened, reclosed and secured the door, Molly let out an odd noise, halfway between relief and a sob while Toby leisurely made his way over to his clearly distressed human. The cat rubbed himself against Molly’s leg, almost tentative in his move to climb into her lap.

It brought her some level of comfort to have her feline companion be so intuitive at times. Moody as he was, Toby knew when to step up. The small action seemed to pause the tears that threatened to leave her eyes and gave her enough strength to get up and have a look around the flat. She clutched Toby to her chest with one arm and had equipped her free (dominant) hand with the cricket bat stuffed under the sofa. Making her way around the small flat, Molly noticed everything in its place, unruffled and just as she had left it in the morning. She worked quickly, letting Toby meander around behind her, to close all of the blinds and curtains on the windows after having thoroughly checked the locks.

Gathering Toby in her arms again, she collected a few of his things and something for her to anxiously munch on before locking them into her bedroom. Toby had gratefully curled up at her side once Molly had slipped under the covers. Slipping a hand into his fur, she petted him gently, trying to put her mind at ease and listening to every little creak, crack and click.


End file.
